Tower Blocks and Bedding
by memories-child
Summary: Mulder doesn't leave the motel room to search for moth men. Drabble.


She pauses outside his motel room, tray balanced carefully in both hands. Taking a deep breath (he's your partner, it's normal to be knocking on his door asking about the case, she tells herself, but the traitorous voice in the back of mind asks her is it really normal to be holding cheese and wine) she pushes the door open.

"Who cut the cheese?"

"Since you won't be making it to the conference...." She's nervous, she realises, nervous of Mulder and the ridiculousness of the situation almost makes her laugh.

"However, I must remind you this goes against the Bureau's policy of male and female agents consorting in the same motel room while on assignment."

She opens the wine as he sits at the laptop, hoping the dim lighting hides the furious blush of her cheeks. Fighting to keep her breath even she answers his questions on autopilot, shaking hands pouring the wine into plastic tumblers and too late she notices he's pulling his coat on, preparing to leave.

"Where are you going?" The question comes out like an accusation and she immediately wishes she could bite back the words. But she isn't sure that she can do this again (even if it is 'just' Mulder, even if sitting in his room (with cheese and wine? the voice chips in) is normal).

"I got to check something out."

"You know, Mulder, sometimes I think some work on your communication skills wouldn't be such a bad idea."

He hears the frustration in her voice and softens.

"I'll be back soon, and we can build a tower of furniture." He smiles at her and she melts a little. "'Kay?"

Scully downs a gulp of wine as the door closes behind him and sinks to the bed. This, she knows, is Mulder. Forever chasing monsters in the dark. But... she stops, the truth too large for her to accept (but, that voice in her mind, speaking her unwilling thoughts, sometimes you wish he'd chase you). She toys with the plastic tumbler, trying to decide whether to stay and wait or make the suddenly long trip back to her room and as she sits she hears the door open.

"I thought you had to check something out?" There it is, that accusatory tone again and she sees the hurt in his eyes. Is this how it's destined to be now, her misunderstanding him; him misreading her. That unspoken communication he'd joked (had he joked?) about earlier a thing of the past?

"I uh, I thought maybe we could work on my communication skills." And then they're both laughing, somewhat embarrassed, mostly happy; drinking wine from plastic tumblers in dingy hotel room in the middle of the night.

Some time later, Scully isn't sure how long, they're curled up on the duvet. One bottle of wine turned into two, and the carefully cut cheese has been decimated. Her shoes have slipped off, the smooth cotton soothing her aching balls, and Mulder's long legs dangle over the edge of the bed.

She realises that she hasn't felt this happy in a long time, and the thought envelops her, wraps her up until a wave of joy runs from her toes and makes her shiver. She had never thought that attending an FBI team seminar (the fact that they aren't currently at an FBI team seminar she chooses to ignore) would be so much...fun. And she is having fun, her and Mulder and the remnants of their impromptu party.

"So when are we going to start building towers of furniture?" She asks and flushes red as her turns to gaze into her eyes.

"I had thought of something more interesting we could do," he hints "Which wouldn't involve moving much further from where we are."

"Really," is all she can think to mutter and her sober mind scolds her for this lack of coherence.

"Technically we're not on assignment. We've been waylaid on our way to a very interesting, very stimulating team seminar,"

She catches on and can't stop the grin from spreading across her face. She lights up the room.

"And I'm sure Bureau rules don't apply."

As he speaks he tilts his head gently towards her and she holds her breath, hardly daring to breathe in case this should suddenly turn into the most wonderful dream. He wraps her in the duvet, hands entwined with hers as her red hair escapes from its blanketed surroundings.

But just in case, we can tell them we're constructing an escape plan. In case we ever get trapped in a motel room with only bedding to get us out."


End file.
